Killa Season 2: The Purge Read online

  Chapter 12

  “Man!” Killa groaned when Jay-Z began rapping from his cell phone. Only one person had that particular ring tone assigned so he already knew who it was. Still, he checked the satellite phone first to make sure he didn’t miss a call. He didn’t, so he answered. “Hello, Grandma.”

  “Hello yourself, I need you to stop by the store for me please,” Diedra requested just like she would any other time. Only this wasn’t any other time and she was supposed to be in hiding with Sincerity and the kids.

  “I’m not even in New York, why are you?” he asked shaking his head. “Why are you home? You’re supposed to be upstate!”

  “Chile I got tired of being cooped up in that place. I’m an old lady and I want to be in my own place,” she insisted.

  “I’m on my way,” he said and clicked off. His next call was to his childhood friend Nitty to provide security for his family until he arrived.

  “A girl? You worried about a girl?” Nitty asked in utter astonishment. After all, he did grow up with him and knew his murderous reputation better than most.

  “She’s not a girl, she’s a monster! If you see her, kill her! No questions asked, murder her!” Killa insisted.

  “Say no more,” his friend said accepting the responsibility. He put a team on the rooftops and one in the courtyard. It was not a good day to visit University Homes. Shit, no day really is, but that day less than others.

  Killa had no time to drive the thirteen hours to New York so he headed to the airport. That was dangerous on so many levels, but mainly because he couldn’t carry a gun. He felt butt naked without one. Same feeling one has when accidently leaving their cell phone at home.

  Antoinette’s offer of one for the road rang in his ears the entire flight. Turning down a girl who swallows is a tough pill to swallow. Knowing Sincerity would be waiting with open arms and open legs gave him strength.

  He couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh at his plight. He had some wonderful women in his life, but they were both hardheaded. Why are the best women so hardheaded?

  After an uneventful flight, Killa caught a taxi to the Bronx. He rode up the hill on Ogden Avenue and got out on 166th Street to walk the block over to the projects. To the casual observer he seemed to walk casually although his eyes darted side to side, up, down, and all around for possible threats. It was caution, not fear, even though they look alike. A commotion at the daycare center caught his attention. He wanted so badly to mind his business but couldn’t. Not when a child was involved. Killa loves the kids.

  “Girl shut your damn mouth!” the kidnapper demanded as she drug the hesitant child away from the center.

  “No! You ain’t my mother!” the child yelled trying to pull her hand free.

  “Fuck,” Killa groaned, knowing he couldn’t just ignore a child being kidnapped. He figured he’d go rescue her and return her to the daycare. “Aye, what’cu doing with the kid?” he demanded as he approached the woman and child.

  “Minding my damn business,” she shot back. Killa couldn’t help but frown at how odd she looked up close. The nearly bald woman had no eyebrows or lashes. Her bright skin had spots and blotches as if burned by chemicals. She actually looked like a lab rat. No telling what she might do to a child.

  “Do you know her sweetheart?” Killa asked bending down next to the girl.

  “No!” the frightened child yelled tugging her hand free. Just as the girl ran towards Killa, the woman spoke, stopping her dead in her tracks.

  “Ladonquanishontayia! You know good and well I’m your damn mother!” she insisted with a stomp of her cheap sneaker.

  “Mommy?” the child scrunched her face and asked upon hearing her hard to pronounce name. She was almost three and still couldn’t say it.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” she softened as her child came near. She turned to Killa to explain the mix up. “She ain’t never seen me without my weave, make up, eyebrows drawn on, eyelashes, and contacts.”

  Killa just walked off shaking his head.

  ****

  “Not my fault,” Sincerity announced holding her hands up in surrender.

  Since Nitty had shot him a thumbs up he went home first. “I already know once that hard headed old lady makes up her mind there’s no stopping her,” Killa conceded as he scooped his son up from the sofa. “Where’s Rico?”

  “Sleep. He sleepy too so…” she said leaving the rest in the air. The movement in the tiny shorts said the rest as she walked away. Both kids asleep at the same time meant one thing. Somebody was getting fucked!

  “Rock-a-bye, go to sleep,” Killa sang and rocked, rocked and sang. The child blinked and yawned like he was trying to fight it but the sandman whisked him away. The father gently laid him down and tiptoed away to get laid himself.

  “He’s slee…oh my!” Killa exclaimed when he reached the bedroom. There was Sincerity, butt naked, face down, ass up on the middle of the bed. Her plump vagina poked out the back like a ripe juicy mango. Guys like mangos.

  Killa dropped his jeans and boxers as he made his way to the bed. By the time he got there, he was as naked as she was. The best thing about a mango is the juice, so he leaned in for a taste.

  “Ssss…” Sincerity hissed when his tongue touched her juice box. He got reacquainted with it by kissing and licking it until she came in his face. He couldn’t complain as many times as he done it to her.

  Instead, he stood and used the gush of fluid to ease his way inside. He stifled a growl as he sank slowly to the bottom. The best part of the vagina is the bottom, sucks if a guy can’t reach it. He’s missing out, so is she come to think about it.

  Killa slowly withdrew up to the head then sank back inside. He kept up that slow stroke until Sincerity squealed and came all over his dick. The sound and sight of all that creamy goodness on his dick pushed him over the edge. Kicked him off the cliff is more like it when he came with a grunt. At the last possible second he pulled out and skeeted potential children onto the tattoo on her back. That is what they’re for after all.

  “Boy you know I’m on the pill. Wouldn’t want you to have two chicks knocked up at the same time,” she quipped as she climbed out of bed.

  Killa let the sarcastic remark pass without comment. What was there to say anyway? He stood by his decision to come clean about Yolo being pregnant. It was what is was and they had to deal with it. She had worked up a good lather when Killa joined her in the shower.

  “You going to see Grandma Diedra?” She asked as she turned to wash her man. Starting with his dick of course.

  “I guess I better. I got Nitty and them watching her.”

  “I put lil’ Chris and the rest of those little goons in her hallway. Them lil’ niggas work for weed,” Sincerity replied.

  Killa knew them little niggas were in trouble if Yolo did come. Nitty, the young thugs, were all in trouble.

  ****

  “You hungry?” Diedra asked nonchalantly. As if she hadn’t disobeyed his order and put herself in grave danger from the lovely little lunatic. She did cook his favorite foods hoping that it would help. It did.

  “Yes,” he sang like a six year old as the aroma of fried chicken, collard greens, candy yams, and macaroni and cheese invaded his being. The next thing he knew, his mouth was full of food. That shut him up.

  “I know you’re upset but I can’t stay cooped up in that place. You need to do something about that woman so we can live in peace,” she huffed.

  “Mm hmm,” Killa grunted because his mouth was stuck shut from all the cheese. Once he got it down, he put his foot down. “If I can’t, you guys are going to South America. I bought enough land there for the entire clan.”

  “I’m not leaving my granddaughter!” Diedra insisted.

  “Grandma that girl will be down there sooner or later herself,” he replied knowingly. The Dope Girl was about to go to war herself and he knew it. Beef like that only ends one of two ways. A graveyard or on the run. Even jail isn’t an option at that point
.

  Chapter 13

  “So what’s been up?” Nitty asked nosily as he passed Killa a blunt. He guarded Grandma without question but now he had a million of them.

  “Nothing,” Killa replied answering all of them at once. He took the blunt but stopped just short of taking a pull and passed it back. Too much was at stake, he had to stay sharp. “I see business is brisk.”

  “You would think so,” Nitty said at his observation of all the drug activity. Killa knew all the young runners were running for him. “Fuckin’ crooked ass cops don’t want a nigga to eat!”

  “Crooked cops! Where?” he asked eagerly. He still felt a need to purge and who better to rid society of than crooked cops! If there’s one thing the world could do without, it’s crooked cops.

  “Detectives O’Neil and Garnett. Real pieces of shit!” Nitty grumbled. The look on his face was as if the names tasted like shit in his mouth when he spoke them.

  “Same ones who killed that little gangbanger?” he asked remembering recent news reports.

  “Gangbanger! Ha, son was a choir boy!”

  William Clayton was actually a choirboy, a straight A student, and all around good kid. He made the fatal mistake of going to the store wearing a hoodie. Everyone knows black boys in hoodies are armed and dangerous. O’Neil and Garnett pulled up on him to search him, but Garnett panicked and killed him.

  Instead of owning up to their mistake, they planted a gun on the kid. The orange hoodie wasn’t the color of any known gangs, so they made one up. By the time, they dragged his name through the mud he was a gangbanging, gun toting bad guy. Oh, and an Islamic extremist for good measure.

  Kevin O’Neil was indeed a piece of shit. Joining the police force gave him a gun, a badge, and permission to do whatever the fuck he wanted to. He was a degenerate gambler, drug addict, alcoholic with a blowjob fetish. A typical day for him started with a line of coke, shot of liquor, and a few tokes of weed before his morning piss. Then he would force his dick down the throat of one of the local prostitutes. They could either blow him or make bond. Then he set off around the Bronx shaking down and robbing criminals. He got so bad the criminals called the cops.

  Dave Garnett was assigned to internal affairs. When the complaints reached his department, they put him on the crooked cop. Dave was supposed to be undercover and report back, but got corrupted himself. His mortgage, bills, and college for three kids made the easy money easy to take. He had very little field experience and shot little William by accident. He gladly went along with the cover up and they were free to resume their illegal activities. Would have gotten away with it forever, but…along came a Killa.

  ****

  “You know this moke?” O’Neil grunted at the new face in the project’s courtyard.

  “Must be new,” Garnett guessed after squinting didn’t help identify him. “I never seen this one before.”

  “New nigga equals new money! Let’s go introduce ourselves,” O’Neil suggested and got out of their unmarked car.

  “Sup my nigga?” O’Neil asked with a broad smile. That term never ceased to amuse him. Niggers used it as a term of endearment but to him it meant he owned your black ass.

  “Say word?” Killa responded with a chuckle. He already planned on killing dude but he was going to eat those words before he left for the afterlife. “Sup with you?”

  “These are our projects is what’s up,” Garnett shot back trying to sound tough and failing miserably.

  “Yeah, we own it!” O’Neil jumped in. “You gotta pay if you wanna stay!”

  “Shit I just bought this spot from Nitty. No wonder it was so cheap!” Killa lamented. He loved getting to try out his acting chops and was actually quite convincing.

  “Guess he didn’t tell you about the tax. A grand a day but that’s cheap considering,” O’Neil explained.

  Killa nodded thoughtfully, even scratched his chin as he contemplated. Actually, he knew first-hand how much those projects could generate. Put out a collection box to feed the hungry and their asses were going to starve, but sell crack? The place was a gold mine. A grand a day was a bargain but Killa had a better offer.

  “I don’t have a problem with that, but check it…What about twenty racks up front for the whole month?”

  The perfidious partners conferred with a quick glance and nodded their approval. Splitting twenty thousand sure beat coming up in the projects every day. Besides, they could and probably would renege. Who could he tell?

  “Deal, let’s have it,” Garnett greedily demanded and thrust his empty palm out. It came back just as empty.

  “Son, I ain’t got it in my sock! I’ll drop it off later, shit; I’ll come to your house and deliver!” Killa offered hoping it would be that easy. It wouldn’t be.

  “We can meet you tonight, by the stadium. I’m not coming in this rat hole at night,” O’Neil spat.

  “I got a thing tonight, with the family,” Garnett begged off.

  “I’ll meet him and uh…just bring your share tomorrow?” he offered.

  Killa spoke and understood double talk and heard what wasn’t said. His partner wasn’t getting shit. O’Neil would kill Killa and keep the twenty grand himself. It warmed Killa’s cold heart to be able to rid the planet of the scumbag.

  “Ok, sure, thanks,” Garnett said appreciatively. His naïve ass had no idea how much his so-called partner beat him out of.

  “Well ok,” Killa agreed half-heartedly. He would have loved to get them both at the same time.

  “My nigga,” O’Neil chuckled as they walked off.

  ****

  “And where are you headed?” Sincerity asked seeing Killa dressed to kill. Not suit and tie dressed to kill but boots and jeans dressed to kill. All black murder gear.

  “Gotta go holla at some cop friends of mine,” he replied as he accessorized. Not tie pin and cuff links, but Kevlar and extra clips. That night was one of those nights that had people in mourning by morning.

  “Sucks for them,” she laughed knowingly. “Want me to stay up?”

  “I do, I do,” he shot back just as knowingly. Murder always got his adrenaline going and she wanted to feel it. The couple met lips like couples do and he was off into the night.

  Since Killa didn’t have a definite plan, he planned to be amorphous. Instead of driving or taking a taxi, he walked the short walk down the hill to Yankee Stadium. A game was in full swing, which could work for or against him. Plenty of people to mix with, but also plenty of potential witnesses.

  Killa wasn’t the only one with murder on his mind. Detective O’Neil had mentally spent that twenty grand twenty different ways. He planned to buy a shit load of drugs and pussy. He would kill him and make up an excuse for his partner. He was so busy plotting and planning he didn’t see Killa approach from the rear.

  “Sup,” Killa said instead of shooting him. He wanted to, but too many people were near.

  “My nigga, you got my money?” O’Neil asked trying to conceal his shock. The thug had the drop on him and could have dropped him. The fact that he didn’t, gave him a false sense of security. Rocked him to sleep.

  “Yup, in my car,” he replied, pointing up Jerome Avenue with his head. The cop looked down the dark block and smiled.

  Killa lead the way waiting for the right second to strike. They both discreetly pulled silencer equipped pistols out as they talked about what might be happening in the stadium behind them. The roar of the crowd could be heard blocks away, which was good for a Yankees fan. Bad for crooked cops though.

  “Right there,” Killa said pointing at a sedan on the curb.

  “The blue one?” O’Neil asked in disbelief. He couldn’t be talking about his car, could he? He was.

  “Yup,” came the reply that started the gunfight. Both men pulled their guns and fired. Both went stumbling as slugs slammed against bulletproof vests. Both sought refuge behind the cop’s car.

  “Shoulda known you had a vest on,” the cop complained in pain. Vest or no vest, g
etting shot hurts.

  “I knew you did,” Killa laughed. “That’s why I used cop killers.”

  “Cop…killers?” O’Neil grunted and put his hand up to his vest. He had taken a round to the vest before and it hurt, but not like he hurt at that moment. The blood on his fingers explained the burning sensation in his chest and shortness of breath. He was dying and he knew it. The best he could do now was take his killer with him.

  He used his last bit of energy to jump up and attack As soon as he stood; Killa put one of the Teflon coated bullets into his forehead. His brain flew out of the huge hole in the back of his head like confetti.

  “My nigga,” Killa chuckled as he looked down at the mess.

  He dug into his pockets pulling out weed, coke, and money until he found what he was looking for. His phone had more intel on his partner than he would have thought. Not just phone number and address, but pictures of wife, kids, and parents. It was more than he needed to continue his purge.

  Chapter 14

  Detective Garnett didn’t buy the official report of his partner’s murder for a second. Street robbers prey on visitors to Yankee Stadium on a regular basis, but they didn’t use Teflon coated bullets. The specially designed bullets were designed for one thing, killing cops. Hence their name, Cop Killers.

  It was a hit. That much he was sure of, but nothing more. They crossed and double-crossed so many people it would be impossible to figure out who. He was naïve enough to believe it ended with his partner. Besides, he had his own demons to deal with. He had a tail as he visited different cathedrals and churches seeking penance.

  Killa could have killed him quite a few times over the few weeks he followed him but found his depression amusing. Dude was clearly going through it and he loved it. Loved watching his guilt eat him alive. He started drinking the day his wife took the kids to her mother. The time was finally ripe for his demise.

  Knowing his routine allowed Killa to get a step ahead of him. Just like a spider, he spun a web and waited. As soon as Garnett got caught in the trap, along came a Killa.